


painting with the colours of the heart

by syllkies



Series: love is an art form (and we’re the artists) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But also, Feel-good, Fluff, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Mentioned Kuroo Tetsurou, Mentioned Oikawa Tooru, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, Soulmates, art critic akaashi keiji, bokuaka being cute, but make it metaphorical, i know i put the twins as characters but dont expect them to appear very often, like two times at most, never thought we'd get to this point, no beta we die like men, painter bokuto koutaro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syllkies/pseuds/syllkies
Summary: Akaashi Keiji might be a man of many talents, but expressing feelings surely isn’t one of them. Thankfully, he has a sentimental artist to show him how.Painter!Bokuto & Art critic!Akaashi, or the au no one wanted, but i believe everyone needed20.12.2020 update: made a playlist!painting with the colours of the heart playlistmight add more stuff to it as i continue writing
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, implied iwaizumi hajime/ oikawa tooru
Series: love is an art form (and we’re the artists) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076822
Comments: 22
Kudos: 62





	1. Arrangement in gray and black no. 1, 1871 (James Abbott McNeill Whistler)

**Author's Note:**

> my first shot at a multi-chapter fic  
> as always, kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy (￣ω￣)/

Akaashi Keiji was a simple man with a taste for the finer things in life – for him there was nothing better than a good book and a glass of red wine in hand every night he came back from work. He thrived on the simplicity his lifestyle offered – a monotonous cycle, in which he found comfort. On a good day, he might even go as far as calling it a piece of art – each step and turn he took to a gallery, a different brushstroke; with each painting he reviewed a new colour was added.

Every morning for breakfast he had steamed rice and a few side dishes with a cup of warm tea (different depending on the season) and after that it was a leisurely stroll to his workplace. He would greet the small team he worked with, he’d sit down at his desk and the rest of the day would go according to what he had written in his planner the day before.

Nothing significant, until one day he stumbled upon an article about the “youngest and most talented artist to grace the galleries of New York in the past 3 years”, who coincidentally now lived in Tokyo and was looking for a critic. 

Akaashi was intrigued, for the lack of a better word. He looked up the name of the artist and was greeted with multiple articles praising “Bokuto Koutaro” and his paintings, and a few pictures of a young man, posing in front of various buildings (presumably the aforementioned galleries). He was the same age as Akaashi, twenty-five, and his hair was a striking gray colour (bordering on silver) with dark roots showing underneath. It was slightly curled at the end and it fell gracefully around his face, making him appear more innocent-looking and younger than he actually was.

It was also important to mention Akaashi Keiji was by no means a spontaneous man, if his daily planners were anything to go by. In fact, his life was so organized and uneventful some might even go as far as to say it was boring and a waste. Despite all this, the young art critic found himself in front of Bokuto Koutaro’s small gallery, its address written roughly on a piece of paper.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him and yet here he was opening the door without even knocking first. The bell above it rang softly and he entered a long corridor with different glass doors on each side, each leading to different room with exposed artwork in them. Akaashi had looked some of it up before hurriedly exiting his office without even glancing at his co-workers. Truthfully, he wasn’t a big fan of it in its general idea – he had never been really fond of flowers and animals, and yet at its core there was something so pure and ethereal with the way the watercolors were used, creating a cohesive piece, he couldn’t take his eyes off of it.

The more he thought about it, perhaps that was what prompted him to go in the first place. He thoroughly believed the art represents the artist in its core – each colour and brushstroke a different experience that shaped a person. That’s why he always looked for young artists – to see how far their art would go and how it would change during the course of their career. It was interesting and far more amusing than staring at the paintings of already established artists, who (in his _very_ humble opinion) had nothing to offer, except for scraps of their previous genius.

He was enjoying the detailing of a painting of a white tiger, when he heard the glass door behind him slide, having completely forgetten he was ( _in fact_ ) intruding someone else’s workspace.

“Could I help you with something?”

He was met with the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen (the pictures truly did him no justice) – it was as if every star in the sky was swimming in them, surrounded by dripping gold. They were bright and stark compared to his hair and Akaashi felt his breath hitch. It took him a few seconds to compose himself and tear away his gaze from the one of the man in front of him before finally introducing himself.

“I see,” mused Bokuto, who was now leaning on the door frame. He then struck a smile Akaashi’s way “I’m happy I grabbed your interest. I honestly thought it was gonna take a lot more work to find a critic,”

Akaashi once again found himself unable to breathe properly. _He’s beautiful_ , he thought, but soon realized he was here to do business and cleared his throat.

“Since you seem alright with me, perhaps we should discuss how we’re going to work from now on?” he questioned, still refusing to return the artist’s look.

“Yes, of course,” his laughter was like freshly collected honey, “Follow me this way to my office.”

Akaashi nodded, taking one last look at the painting of the white tiger.

The office was rather spacious, considering how small the building looked from the outside. It was painted light beige and a couple of unused canvases were stacked against one of the walls. It didn’t have any book cabinets; instead all of the books were laid on the ground. The wooden bureau had a lamp and various paints, markers and pencils on it, along with some sketchbooks tossed to the far left corner.

“Yeah, it isn’t really tidy, but I only moved in recently, I hope you don’t mind,”

 _I don’t think there’s anything you could do that I would mind_ , Akaashi cringed internally at his own thoughts. He had known this man for less than ten minutes; he needed to calm down before he said anything that could potentially embarrass himself.

He sat down in the only chair in front of the bureau and waited for Bokuto to clean his workspace. After a little bit the artist finished his actions with a content hum and sat down in his own chair. Now that they were facing each other at a closer proximity, Akaashi found it even harder not to stare.

“Why are you looking for a critic?” the question was laced with genuine curiosity rather than proper work etiquette.

This Bokato Koutaro seemed to get good reviews every time he came up with a new concept - art critics and fans of the medium alike loved his work, so Akaashi couldn't help but wonder why someone this appreciated and talented would ever look for a personal critic. If anything, he should be looking for an assistant. 

Bokuto didn’t answer right away. He fidgeted for a bit before setting his eyes on the blank canvases.

“I’m no longer happy with my art. I need someone to guide me out of this slump,”

Akaashi could have sworn he saw his eyes glisten, as he if was about to cry. Keiji was aware, of course, that artists were rather sensitive people (although art in general is a sensitive topic, he supposed), but he had never seem someone so affected by their art block – it was almost fascinating to see, _almost_.

The art critic thought for a bit. He really needed to carefully consider his words, especially when confronted with someone that emotional. He didn’t want to suffer the embarrassment if he said something inappropriate.

“Well since you already agreed to work with me, I suppose I have no choice, but to help you,” he finally settled, although in hindsight that might have seemed rather rude.

Bokuto was clearly a little taken aback because of the bluntness, but was quick to put a smile on his face, “Wonderful! Thank you, Akaashi!”

Keiji had half a mind to tell him to call him by his first name, but ultimately decided it was too soon for such informalities.

After settling some details like the place and time of their work (Bokuto’s office every Wednesday at 12), Akaashi went back to his own.

In reality he hadn’t done much that day, if anything at all, and yet the only thing on his mind was how much he wanted to go back to his apartment (and Bokuto’s eyes, but he turned a blind eye to his subconsciousness).

That same evening when he was finally in the comforts of his home, he had a hard time focusing on the book in his hands and didn’t even finish his wine. That same night when he was laying in bed he thought about the stars in the sky and when he finally went to sleep he dreamt of gold and silver.

  



	2. The garden of earthly delights, 1503-1515 (Hieronymus Bosch)

It was yet another unusually rainy noon when Akaashi finally made his way to Bokuto's workplace. He was genuinely starting to believe the weather purposely got worse specifically for their weekly meetings, but that could've also been Bokuto's antics rubbing off on him. 

Upon entering the relatively small gallery, Akaashi was met with the unmistakable scent of cinnamon Christmas cookies. 

"Bokuto-san?" he went down the corridor until he reached the door of the artst's office. He knocked gently and waited for an answer. After what seemed like an eternity the door opened and a mop if silver hair blinded Akaashi's view. 

"Akaashi, you're here! Come on in, come on in!" 

Bokuto made way for him to enter the room, which was in rather questionable condition. some of the blank canvases were opened and scattered across the floor. A brand new set of paints was opened on the desk and just waited to be used, and the source of the familiar smell was sitting on a little coffee table with a cup of milk on the side next to the desk. 

Akaashi silently made his was inside, trying not to accidentally step on any of the supplies and Bokuto soon followed his as well. 

"When will you finally clean the place up? I doubt it's comfortable to work in such conditions," remarked the art critic, sitting down.

"Care for a cookie?" Bokuto fully ignored him, taking a cookie from the plate. 

"Care to answer my question?" 

Bokuto looked at him dumb-founded. He sat down at his desk and took a bite from his sweet, eyeing the critic suspiciously. 

It made Akaashi uneasy. Had he really just made him upset? He knew he could come out as rather apathetic and stoic at time, especially since his colleagues never missed to make a remark about it. However, the idea that Bokuto might potentially continue to react this way dawned on him аnd- 

Akaashi stopped his train of thought. 

_Overthinking is tiring_ , and he had been doing way too much of it for his own good. 

Just when he was about to change the conversation, Bokuto beat him to it. 

"Akaashi, tell me what you think about my art. Don't hold back in anything, just your honest opinion," 

Akaashi's eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. _What a man_ , one second he was upset and the next he was asking questions. 

"I've been thinking and I realized i never asked you, even though we've been partners for almost a month now,"

 _Partners_ , Akaashi chuckled slightly at the thought. 

Without a doubt Bokuto Koutaro was a storm, strong and soul crushing; the kind that destroys homes and takes human lives and yet it is so beautiful and breath-taking you can't help but look at it - at the way the clouds form, the thunder resonates in the distance and the light blinds you. It's as if the planet has stopped dead in its tracks, along with time, giving you infinity to love and fear the disaster all the same. 

"Well," began Akaashi, as if he was holding an object made of glass and was afraid he was going to drop it and break it "I'll be frank, I've never been the biggest fan of flowers and animals as symbols. I mean, the world i so vast, there are endless ways to present a concept and yet everyone chooses what's the easiest,"

He glanced Bokuto's way, who was staring at him thoughtfully. Akaashi captured his gaze and saw a silent plea to continue, so he did.

"You're talented, Bokuto-san. I believe you can do better than flowers and animals. With that being said i have nothing to add technique-wise. I haven't seen watercolours used so skillfully on a canvas in a long time. Nowadays, everyone uses acrylics, but I think there is something intimate in using the former," 

Silence fell, which was rather unusual in when you're around Bokuto, but it still wasn't as awkward as Akaashi thought it was going to be. Maybe it was because the artist's being filled the room the same way Akaashi filled his favourite sweater during winter. Either way, he didn't mind it. 

"I see," Bokuto chuckled slightly "I myself have been growing tired of flowers and animals. I agree, there are better ways to conceptualize an idea," 

A pregnant pause. 

"I've been doing some thinking for the past week, y'know. About all this. And, uhmm, would you like me to help me with it?"

"I thought I was already doing that. That's why you hired in the first place," 

Akaashi was confuse. What was the man in front of him on about?

Bokuto laughed hearty and light-weight (and Akaashi simply thought this could quickly become his favourite sound in the world).

"I'm well aware of that, but it's not what i meant. Akaashi, I'm asking you to become my muse,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it wasn't obvious before that i have no idea what art critics do - it should be now (￣▽￣*)ゞ


	3. A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte, 1884-1886 (Georges Seurat)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> аhh sorry for taking so long to update,, life's been a little tough lately :(( im alright now tho!! 
> 
> i hope you enjoy and as always kudos and comments are greatly appreciated

In hindsight, perhaps there was a better way of reacting to the sudden proposal, but seeing as it came the same way a tsunami does – unsettling and bone-chilling; Akaashi decided his reaction was more than becoming. You don’t get asked to become someone’s muse every day, after all. Or, at least, Akaashi wasn’t.

An artist’s muse was akin to the stars in sky. The sky, in and of itself, is beautiful, but it’s the stars that make it worth-looking at. There was also a hidden romance in being someone’s unlimited inspiration, hell, art itself was a form of love, for it conquers all. And Akaashi simply wasn't sure whether he's ready to be _all that_ to someone else yet. 

Or maybe Akaashi was reading too much into it. They’ve known each other for not even a month and he’s already asked him to become his muse? What was this – yet another bad rom-com Hollywood had came up with for a quick cash-grab? He was well-aware of the fact Bokuto had undoubtedly looked him up (you can’t entrust your career to just _anyone,_ at least not in this industry) and yet he couldn’t have possibly been impressed to the point he felt the need to ask Akaashi to become his muse. That was too crazy, reckless, stupid, _ridiculous_ −

 _Ah, there it is again,_ his insides twisted uncomfortably with anxiety. It had been building up ever since he panicked and had told Bokuto he’d tell him his answer next week.

Well, next week was already here in the form of Bokuto’s gallery and what seemed to be storm clouds forming above it, but that could’ve also been Akaashi’s imagination. 

He breathed in and out a couple of times before timidly entering.

 _What are you even worried about? Maybe he asked you because he’s bored. You know muses no longer have the meaning they used to_ , Oikawa’s, his colleague’s, words echoed in his head while he made his way to the office’s wooden door. He knew Oikawa was right, (because, damn him, he always was) but that didn’t stop his heart from nearly bursting out of his rib cage (perhaps, it was made even worse because of Oikawa’s words).

Akaashi felt like the corridor stretched out for kilometres before he finally made it to the very end.

 _Here goes nothing_ , he gently knocked and waited for an answer, but it never came.

“Bokuto-san?” his voice was quiet, almost a whisper, as he entered the room only to find it was empty.

“Akaashi?”

The man jumped in surprise upon hearing his name and bumped into the door. He regained his composure and looked at (read: _ogled_ ) the man in front of him. Bokuto was clad in his usual funky- patterned button-up and wide, stretchy pants. Some splashes of red and blue contrasted the beige colour of the pants’ fabric and there was even a bit of bright yellow paint on his right cheek.

Akaashi was about to reply, but instead subconsciously scrunched his nose at the familiar smell of acrylic paint.

“Is this acrylic paint? Since when do you use it?”

“So straightforward. I like it,” chuckled Bokuto lightly and Akaashi felt a slight blush creeping up his cheeks, one that he was hoping the other man wouldn’t notice.

“To answer your question, yes, it is acrylic paint. I thought I could experiment a little while waiting for you. Would you like to see?” Bokuto sounded like a little child asking their parent to buy them a candy cone, and Akaashi couldn’t say no.

They entered one of the rooms on the left side of the corridor. It was mostly empty except for the painted canvas placed in the middle of the room, some paints on the floor and a small stool in front of the easel.

The painting Bokuto had started was nothing short of ordinary – a poppy field engulfed by a bright sun that was simultaneously setting in the background, and yet Akaashi couldn’t help but feel vaguely impressed by it. It was an unfamiliar feeling and when he turned to the artist himself to share his thoughts, Bokuto was already intently staring at him.

“It’s probably not up to your taste. To be honest, I was hesitant myself, but I believe when you start something new, you gotta do it with small steps,”

It was as if he was reading Akaashi’s mind, which would’ve been a little unnerving had it been someone else. But at that point, Bokuto wasn’t just _someone else_ and Akaashi wondered whether it’s supposed to be that way.

Akaashi had spent every night for the past few weeks thinking of the silver-haired man before drifting off to sleep. It was unnatural how much the artist had occupied his mind in the darkness and recently, even in broad daylight. So much so, even some of his colleagues had taken notice of that; particularly Kuroo would never miss a chance to make a snide remark about Akaashi’s “obvious daydreaming”. However, had Tetsuroo seen the artist in real life, he’d behave completely different.

Bokuto was similar to a fruity cocktail – sweet and addicting; the type that would make you believe there was nothing wrong about drowning yourself in elated pleasure, until it was too late.

“I agree. Besides, it’s not like it’s a bad painting,” mused Akaashi.

“I know. But since you don’t like flowers and all, I wasn’t too sure about it at first,”

Akaashi was shocked upon hearing these words leaving Bokuto’s mouth.

“Bokuto-san, if you like flowers, who am I to stop you from drawing them? I may be your critic, but you’re still an adult capable of making his own decisions,”

The room fell silent and Bokuto refused to look at him, too fixated on the paining in front of him.

“I understand that, but I just didn’t want to disappoint you,” a pregnant pause followed “because if I do, I might lose you,”

The last part was quiet, almost a whisper and Akaashi would’ve probably missed it if he wasn’t so entranced by Bokuto.

It took him a minute to understand the weight behind the artist’s words.

Frankly, at first he wasn’t sure about becoming his muse – it would be something new that would require him to break out of the comfortable cycle he had fallen into, apart from the fact he wasn’t too familiar with him.

Akaashi had always thought muses were like lovers – intimate and sacred. They are connected to the artist by the shared love for something greater than themselves. However, the more he thought about it, perhaps, they were like soulmates – connected through the barriers of time and space, the artists and their muses were bound to meet and to become each other’s infinity that transcends the fickle walls that guard one’s mind and heart.

Akaashi smiled, small and genuine.

“I’ll be your muse, Bokuto-san. And no need to worry, you can’t lose something you were supposed to find in the first place,”


	4. La Grande Odalisque, 1814 (Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight angst, but only if you squint really hard
> 
> comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated ^^ enjoy

There was a visible shift in their relationship after Akaashi had accepted to become Bokuto’s muse. It was nice, Akaashi supposed. They began to meet more regularly, sometimes even at random times without prior notice. Their meet-up places consisted of small cafes, family, restaurants, even an amusement park when the weather had finally cleared up. Bokuto’s favourite past-time also seemed to be going to Akaashi’s workplace and taking his sweet time talking to everybody (he even took Kuroo and Oikawa’s numbers, much to Keiji’s horror).

Akaashi surprisingly found himself enjoying the artist’s constant company more than he thought he would, although he did miss the quiet nights of lying on the couch with a book in hand. But even then, those moments were fleeting and even rarer the more time he spent with Bokuto. He gave him something books couldn’t - a sense of closeness and familiarity with something other than an inanimate object.

However, as perfect as everything sounded, there was all but one problem; a problem one simply couldn’t ignore – it sat above their heads like storm clouds, threatening to unleash nature’s destructible power at any given moment.

“Bokuto-san, you haven’t drawn in awhile,”

“I thought I told you to call me by my first name,”

“Don’t dodge, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi was starting to get annoyed despite himself. He hated getting like this. “I’m bringing it up because you haven’t done anything in the past week. Have you even been to your own office?”

“Are you mad because I’m constantly at yours?” Bokuto looked guilty and stopped eating the ice cream in his hand.

“I’m not. I just wish you’d work. You know you have an exhibition in two months,” Akaashi took a deep breath and continued, “I don’t want you to abandon your work because of me. After all, I’m here to work, as well. It’d be counterproductive if I’m the only one getting something done,”

He looked over at Bokuto. The man was staring at his shoes and there was something solemn about his expression – sadness, disappointment; Akaashi couldn’t tell and a part of him didn’t even want to know, afraid it’d be too much to handle.

Akaashi doesn’t know how to deal with emotions and Bokuto, for better or worse, has a lot of them, sometimes way too many.

“I have to head back,” said Akaashi when he didn’t receive a response from Bokuto. He stood up and waited for the silver-haired man to do the same.

“Alright. You go ahead, Akaashi. I think-,” Bokuto’s breath hitched. “I think I’ll go to the gallery. An idea popped in my head just now,”

Akaashi could’ve sworn Bokuto sounded like he about to cry, but when the artist stood up he shot his usual grin Akaashi’s way, a sense of false reassurance washed over the critic’s body and he let it go.

Perhaps, he _was_ worrying too much. 

Or not nearly enough.

They were supposed to meet up two days later, but just when Akaashi was getting ready to leave his office, his phone rang with the familiar sound of a message notification. It was from Bokuto. He was saying he wouldn’t be able to make it.

Akaashi read it three times and swallowed with acceptance. He texted right back it wasn’t a problem and sat back in his seat. The ordeal was over in less than two minutes and yet he couldn’t help, but think about it – when he was talking on the phone with a gallery holding an upcoming exhibition, when he was eating lunch with Oikawa, when he was on his couch with an untouched book in hands and a full glass of wine.

The next day he didn’t receive a single message from the silver-haired man and the next, and the next, and the next. By the time he closed the office on Friday it had been four days since he had last heard from Bokuto.

It’s important to note Akaashi wasn’t a particularly selfish man – he worked accordingly to other people’s wants and needs, never complaining. He never disturbed anyone and tried his best to put out high-quality work from the sidelines.

So when he found himself in front of the familiar glass door of Bokuto’s gallery, he questioned everything he stood for.

_So much for working from the sidelines_ , he thought and pushed the door open.

He didn’t bother calling out for Bokuto – there was light emitting from one of the rooms on the right, and lo and behold, Bokuto was right there inside. He was on a little stool in front of a tall easel, but Akaashi was only able to see the blank upper left corner of the canvas. Bokuto was painting.

He moved his hand with the gentleness of a mother holding her newborn. Every now and then he flicked his wrist and a little bit of paint would get on the floor in the process. Akaashi watched him from the outside completely mesmerized, despite the fact he could only see the back of his shirt. It was the usual button-up, but one Akaashi didn’t recognize. The sleeves weren’t rolled and were already stained with paint.

Akaashi shook his head and knocked on the door. He opened it without waiting for an answer.

Bokuto didn’t turn around, in fact he didn’t even make a direct sign he had heard Akaashi in the first place. He only stopped painting and straightened his back.

“Bokuto-san?”

A pregnant pause.

“I see you don’t want to talk, but perhaps I could?”

The artist nodded, still not turning around.

Akaashi quickly realized he didn’t know what he wanted to say, or rather how to begin. Hundreds of thoughts went around his mind in circles and not a single one wanted to leave his lips. He stood beside the door frame, staring at his feet. When he finally raised his head he saw Bokuto looking at him curiously, a tinge of sadness was lacing the corners of his eyes.

“Actually, I’m not sure why I came here. I just thought I should,” Akaashi felt heat creeping up his cheeks. He was so embarrassed he went back to staring at his loafers.

“I guess one might say I-,” this time it was Akaashi’s breath that hitched. “I’ve grown used to you being around me, so it’s been a little weird these days without… without you, you know?”

He looked up again. The sadness was gone, instead little creases had taken its place.

“Akaashi, are you saying you’ve missed me?”

“I never said such a thing,”

“You implied it,”

Akaashi stumbled over his next words and Bokuto’s hearty laugh filled the room; the same way cherry blossoms fill the landscapes in the spring.

“I’m glad you came here, Akaashi. You know, I actually thought that you didn’t-,” He didn’t finish his sentence, instead he just stared into Akaashi’s eyes.

The latter had half a mind to tell him to continue, but he clearly didn’t feel comfortable, so Akaashi let it go. Bokuto would tell him eventually, he supposed.

Akaashi found everything to be so easy and hard at the same time with Bokuto. Despite the heavy atmosphere earlier, right now it felt like whatever happened four days ago never did. Yet, he knew it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. He never had arguments with Bokuto, just silence and empty stares and he found that far more terrifying than Oikawa’s occasional screaming. Still, he was grateful they picked the stray pieces up rather quickly and were back at their usual.

“So what exactly are you doing, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi went further inside the room until he was by Bokuto’s side and directly in front of the canvas.

On the canvas was drawn an outline of a human bust. Bokuto had begun to paint the lower part that was right where the canvas was starting. It was painted with a few thin lines of paint, a plethora of colours crashing together to create a complete aesthetic. Akaashi liked it.

“Well, you mentioned I have an exhibition in two months and had a sudden burst of energy,” Bokuto looked at him, smiling brightly.

“So who are you painting?”

Bokuto’s smile was replaced with a frown.

“You know, Akaashi, for someone this smart, you sure are an idiot,” the artist looked at Akaashi in pure disbelief. “Who do you think I could be possibly painting? My muse, of course!”

It was Akaashi’s turn to stare in disbelief. He promptly ignored the beating of his heart against his ribcage and looked at the opposite side of the room - away from Bokuto. He really shouldn’t have been as affected as he was, and yet he here was becoming putty on the floor because of two simple words – _my muse_.

_It’s a job, Akaashi, get it together. It’s just a job_ , and yet when he turned back to look at Bokuto only to find him humming in content, while staring at the canvas in front of him, he couldn’t believe his own words. 


	5. The starry night, 1889 (Vincent van Gogh)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i believe this is the first time kuroo and oikawa make a full appearance? also, miya twins bc im in love with them  
> double also, an update only a day later? im getting better at this 
> 
> akaashi is annoyed at himself and bokuto is a sweetheart 
> 
> kudos and comment are always appreciated, enjoy (*￣▽￣)b

Akaashi soon realized it was becoming a problem.

He wasn’t one to get attached easily. It took him three years before he even started to consider Oikawa as something more than a co-worker and six months after that to even think of calling Kuroo a friend. That was two years ago.

Now, nearly three months into knowing Bokuto Koutaro he already wanted him to call him by his first name, to call him in the middle of the night and tell him when something was bothering him, to be constantly by his side. And spending sixty percent of his time with the man didn’t help his case at all. If you were to ask Kuroo, he’d tell you Akaashi was going crazy; if you were to ask Oikawa, he’d tell you Akaashi was falling in love. But when it came down to it – is there really a difference between the two?

“You know, Akaashi, I never considered you one for romance,”

“I have no idea what you could be possibly talking about, Kuroo-san,”

“Oh, but I’m sure you do,” smiled Oikawa coyly, looking up from his computer screen. “You and Mr. New York Galleries go out for lunch every day in the nearby restaurants. Do you know who else goes there? Young couples,”

“Yes, Oikawa-san, because you would know where couples go out to eat,” took a jab at him Akaashi. “What, did you and Iwaizumi-san go there to eat?”

“We’re not here to talk about _my_ relationship, but about _yours_ ,”

“You mean your _failing_ relationship?”

“Tetsuro!”

Akaashi sighed deeply and turned off his computer. Taking advantage of Kuroo and Oikawa’s fight, he grabbed his jacket and bag and left the office.

The weather was nice and warm. The nearby cherry trees were already blooming, painting the landscape with their beautiful pink blossoms. The sound of the river near Akaashi’s office muffled the sounds of the cars on the other side of the road.

He looked around before pulling out a book from his briefcase to read, while waiting for Bokuto.

They had fallen into a routine of sorts. They’d go out for lunch on weekdays. Every time Akaashi would wait for Bokuto by the railings of the bridge as he was forbidden to go to the gallery before Bokuto has finished his painting. After Bokuto would pick him up they’d go around the neighborhood, falling into a leisurely stroll and talking about everything and nothing at the same time, not necessarily caring about what they’d eat. There was only one place they’d frequent on most days – Onigiri Miya. Two twin brothers owned the small family restaurant and always had people lining outside the separate shop to buy the fantastic food.

Bokuto and Akaashi entered the small restaurant and were immediately greeted by one of the twins, Atsumu.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite customers!” said Atsumu, taking a seat next to Bokuto.

“If it isn’t our favourite twin!” exclaimed Bokuto.

“We all know that’s a lie,” coyly replied Osamu, making his way towards a nearby table. “I’ll be right back with ya. ‘Tsumu, don’t annoy them too much,”

Atsumu sticked his tongue out in a joking manner and turned his attention to the other two men. They fell into light-hearted conversation and sometime later both Atsumu and Osamu (who had come earlier) left to make their usual order.

Silence fell, but neither of them seemed to mind it. The only problem with silence was the thoughts in Akaashi’s head became louder.

He carefully watched Bokuto as the other man sipped his drink and closed his eyes in satisfaction. Akaashi tried his best not think about the way Bokuto’s hair fell over his golden eyes. They hadn’t changed since the first time they had met and Akaashi still thought they held every star in the universe.

Bokuto’s mouth quirked up in a slight smile. He propped his head up on his arm and caught Akaashi’s gaze. Flustered, the latter turned away.

“Has anyone ever told you have beautiful eyes, Akaashi?” Bokuto raised the question as if it was the most natural thing to do. Akaashi couldn’t share the sentiment.

“Why ask all of a sudden?”

Bokuto chuckled slightly and leaned over in his seat, his hand leaving the glass of coke.

“Can’t even make a compliment in your presence,”

Akaashi thought he had misheard, but when he took a look at Bokuto, who was staring right at him, he understood he had heard perfectly.

He didn’t know how to reply. He felt heat creeping up his cheeks and years and he could swear it got hotter in the room all of a sudden.

Bokuto opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it, when Atsumu made an appearance and announced their food was here. They ate it in silence and after the twins visited them a couple more times they finished their food and left.

Bokuto made an effort to distract both of them of the awkwardness in the restaurant by sharing stories from his stay in New York, ones Akaashi had already heard countless times before, but didn’t mind all the same. Subconsciously, he had already accepted he could listen to Bokuto talk all day long, but if only his heart weren’t so stubborn. 

They made their way to Akaashi’s workplace and stood in front of the door.

“Thank you for the great company, Akaashi. Same time tomorrow?”

Akaashi looked up and slightly nodded. They bid their goodbyes and the critic entered the building, never letting his eyes leave Bokuto’s back.

“So how was today’s date, huh?” Oikawa’s voice shook him out of his trance.

“These are not dates, Oikawa-san. It’s purely work-related. He just needs inspiration,”

“You know, Akaashi, I never took you for a liar,” snickered Kuroo as both he and Oikawa went further inside.

Akaashi was left at the door, dumb-founded and slightly angry. However, as much as he wanted to convince himself he was angry at Kuroo, he knew his anger was only directed at himself.

_I’m an idiot._

Oikawa’s words from earlier today and previous days made furious loops in his mind. Akaashi closed his eyes in exasperation.

_And maybe a little bit in love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhm i also have a tumblr acc, although i dont post any stuff there if you'd ever like to talk feel free to do so there (◕‿◕)  
> [vessmoi](https://vessmoi.tumblr.com/)


	6. The creation of Adam, c.1512 (Michelangelo)

The realization for his feelings felt like getting hit by a brick and then falling in the cold waters of a river – sudden and painfully unpleasant. Akaashi spent the entire night thinking about it. He had three options; one, he could ghost Bokuto (there were two problems with that idea – Bokuto wouldn’t settle this easily and then that would break one heart more than necessary so the idea was as quickly abandoned as it was thought of); two, he could just pretend nothing is wrong (in reality, there wasn’t anything wrong, _per se,_ except for the feeling of dread when thinking about the upcoming date– _meet-ups, they are called meet-ups_ ), (now, this option had a plethora of disadvantages in and of itself, like Akaashi’s feelings growing even more, developing useless expectations and then getting them crushed); three, just get it over with (he could just tell Bokuto and leave his feelings in the hands of another to decide for them).

Akaashi liked neither of the options, but nonetheless settled for two, it seemed like it needed the least amount of awkward conversations. And Akaashi wasn’t one for awkward conversations. Rejection had left a bitter taste in his mouth since he had confessed for the first (and hopefully, last time) back in his third year of high school. Perhaps, it was made worse by the fact he wasn’t only rejected by a crush, but a close friend as well.

 _See, this is why we shouldn’t get attached to people,_ thought Akaashi bitterly, standing up from the tall bar stool near his kitchen island. He washed his third cup of coffee for that morning and went to get ready.

He was tired, emotionally, physically, mentally, if you will. He couldn’t remember the last time he had pulled an all-nighter (and because of a _crush_ , at that!, although the word ‘crush’ didn’t sit right with him).

When he got to work, Oikawa and Kuroo made a couple of worried remarks about his unusual, tired-looking appearance, but Akaashi waved their concerns off, telling them everything was fine.

The clock seemed to spin faster than usual and by the time lunch had come around Akaashi wanted to throw up. He struggled leaving the office and nervously swayed from foot to foot, waiting for Bokuto near the bridge. When he saw the familiar mop of silver hair, he felt his heart leaping out of his ribcage.

_Oh, this is bad._

Thankfully, Bokuto talked most of the time during their walk to Onigiri Miya. He had bought a new set of paints and was excited to try them out in the afternoon. Akaashi thought he looked like a puppy (a golden retriever, if we had to go into details), while explaining _even_ the ingredient list.

“Say, Akaashi, I was supposed to fill seven slots, correct?”

“That’s right. Why, you wouldn’t finish in time for the exhibition?”

Bokuto waved his hand in dismissal, whilst opening with his other one the front door of the restaurant, and then holding it open for Akaashi.

“No, it’s not that, just wanted to make sure of the number. So, where is it going to be anyway?”

“The Tokyo metropolitan gallery. They invited some artists from Osaka and Kyoto, too. Oikawa told me there might even be guests from Europe coming,”

Bokuto formed an o shape with his mouth and whistled lowly. “Ohh, I can’t wait another month, I’ve always wanted to meet European artists,”

Akaashi could only slightly nod as he looked at the way Bokuto’s eyes glistened with excitement akin to the one of a child who had just got a new toy and the way his hair moved with every little movement his head made. He could only stare, while Bokuto closed his eyes and hummed in content after taking a bite of a perfectly-shaped onigiri.

Akaashi promptly ignored the way his soul nearly left his body, when Bokuto took a hold of his hands, when they had come back from their lunch and were standing in front of his office. He dismissed the loud thumping of his own heart in his ears as Bokuto asked him to go with him to the park tomorrow, it was Saturday. He was too preoccupied with his mind to even hear himself saying ‘yes’ and only realized he was going to meet Bokuto tomorrow when the later excitedly thanked him and left.

The one thing he could not ignore was Oikawa and Kuroo once again standing behind the front door.

“I… I think we have a problem,”

“Yeah, no shit,”

They sat down in one of the spare office-spaces of their building and Oikawa and Kuroo patiently waited for Akaashi to explain himself.

Akaashi wasn’t one for sharing, especially when in regards to his emotions. He was hesitant in letting people in, so having two people in front of him, waiting, slightly unnerved him. He began hesitantly purposely leaving out the details. Every so often he would gaze over Oikawa and Kuroo as they were both unusually quiet. They were looking back at Akaashi, listening attentively. When he finished he let out a loud sigh and slumped in his seat, avoiding the intense gazes on him.

“In the more than three years that I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you this… this enarmoured, Keiji,” finally said Oikawa, sounding a little hesitant about his choice of words.

“I get why you feel this way, Akaashi. Honestly, If I wasn’t so in love with Kenma, I would’ve probably fallen for him, too. Bokuto is one of those people you can’t help but love,”

 _Or fall in love with_ , thought bitterly Akaashi. He tended to do that a lot lately.

“I think you should tell him,”

Akaashi looked at Oikawa as if he just confessed to murdering his grandmother.

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Iwa-cha–… Iwaizumi used to look at me the same way,” there was something awfully nostalgic in the way Oikawa talked and Akaashi made a mental note to make time to catch-up with his friend.

“Agreed. Bokuto isn’t one to hide his feelings. He’s like an excited puppy,” added Kuroo. “You know, you could just say the word and I could get any information out of him,”

“I wouldn’t like that. If what Oikawa is saying is true then… then I’d much rather have everything happen with time. Forcing him to confess his feelings and then reporting them to me is wrong,” responded Akaashi after a little bit, more confused than ever before.

“We should get back to work,” he added after that, standing up and heading to the door.

That night Akaashi took an exceptionally long hot shower. He let the water run down every crevice of his body, letting all the buildup stress and anxiety go down the drain along with his body wash. He contemplated for a bit how to proceed from then on after learning there was a possibility Bokuto might feel the same, but ultimately decided to let future him make that decision. For now, he had a meet-up for and an exhibition to prepare for.

Love could wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an idea just came to me about an iwaoi spin-off and honestly, i might just run with it


	7. The triumph of Galatea, 1512 (Raphael)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas, everyone! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) (if you celebrate ofc)

Except for when it couldn’t.

It was a warm afternoon, completely in tune with the season. The cherry trees were in full bloom and gentle wind guided their blossoms to the streets and roads, painting everything in light pink.

There were many people in the park – students, mothers with their little kids, people, walking their dogs. Some street vendors had finally opened after a long and cold winter. Akaashi and Bokuto chose to sit near a big cherry blossom tree in the near centre of the park. Bokuto pulled a sketchbook and a few pencils from his tote bag.

“Look how pretty everything is, Akaashi! Spring’s great!”

“Is that your favourite season?”

“Oh no, nothing can bear summer – the sea breeze, the late hot nights. It’s as if the world takes on a completely different appearance,”

“Now that you mentioned it, you put elements of summer quite a lot in your paintings,” replied Akaashi after some thought.

Bokuto hummed in agreement. “I love summer. I get to spend a lot of time with loved ones, because of how long the days are,” a pregnant pause “You know, Akaashi, we should see each other during the summer months, too. I think we’d have a great time together,”

For a split second Akaashi’s breath stopped, perhaps even the world did. A multitude of explanations for Bokuto’s words made furious loops in his head and the implication of his summer offer made him feel slightly nauseous.

“Oi, Akaashi, you alright?” Bokuto waved in front of Akaashi’s face and even made a movement to put it on Akaashi’s forehead, but the latter leaned away from the gesture.

“Bokuto-san, I…,” Akaashi quickly scanned the area with his eyes and spotted a small ice cream vendor not too far away from where they were sitting. “I’ll go buy ice cream!” and stood up without even asking what Bokuto wants.

_Too close for comfort, too close._

While standing in line for the frozen treat, Akaashi felt someone’s intense gaze on his back and, without a doubt in his mind, knew it was Bokuto’s. Nonetheless, he didn’t turn back and when he made his way back to their bench, Bokuto seemed occupied with his sketchbook, a calm expression painting his face.

Akaashi nudged him and gave him his own cone of strawberry ice cream, while taking a seat. He tried peeking into Bokuto’s sketchbook, but the artist quickly hid it under his bag. “Not fair, Akaashi. I said no peeking until I’m done. You know what? You’ll see everything for the first time during the exhibition itself!” Bokuto feigned annoyance and bitterly turned away from Akaashi, licking his ice cream.

Akaashi slightly chucked and shook his head. “If you say so, Bokuto-san. Although, I’m not convinced you’ll keep the promise yourself,”

Bokuto let out a disgruntled grunt and was about to take a jab at Akaashi, but stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly extended his free hand and removed a couple of hair strands that Akaashi hadn’t noticed had fallen in front of his face. They stayed in this position for a couple of seconds until Bokuto was happy with the result and went back to eating his ice cream.

Akaashi, on the other hand, was glad they were sat down, because he was afraid he might've otherwise fainted. His heart was beating loudly in his ears and was sure his face was a more prominent colour than the blossoms that were falling around them.

“Your hair has gotten longer since we first met,” stated Bokuto, looking at nothing in particular. “It’s been that long, huh?” a small chuckle followed.

“Yeah, that long,” nodded in agreement Akaashi.

A comfortable silence made its way between the cracks of untold thoughts. They sat like this until they finished their ice cream and Bokuto couldn’t help but gush about the way the trees and grass aligned perfectly to create the perfect landscape. He opened a new page in his sketchbook, careful not to let Akaashi see what he was doing on the other one, and picked a new pencil up to draw.

“Nature is a great inspiration. You don’t always have to paint with a meaning behind every stroke or colour. Sometimes you draw, because that’s what you want. Head empty, no thoughts, you feel me, Akaashi?”

“I see what you mean, yes,” Akaashi muffled a low chuckle with his hand. “Is this your concept for the exhibition, too?”

“No, I wouldn’t say. I think my concept for that is…,” Bokuto trailed off. “I think it’s love, soulmates, that kind of stuff. The red thread and all that,”

“I see, but I’m not sure love and soulmates are inherently connected,”

“Why not?” Bokuto gave Akaashi a peculiar look. “I think if you find your soulmate, you’ll love them, no?”

“Well, yes, I suppose,” began Akaashi. “But you don’t consider everyone that you love your soulmate, right?”

Bokuto didn’t reply for awhile, clearly thinking a lot about what Akaashi had said. He took his sketchbook and pencil back in his hand and began drawing again. Akaashi shot him a weird look, but didn’t press anyway. They made small talk after that, ranging from their favourite colours to countries they’d like to visit in the future, the previous topic long-forgotten.

They left the park just when the sun had begun to set. They walked quietly in tandem until they reached Akaashi’s apartement. Akaashi unlocked his front door (had half a mind to invite Bokuto inside, but decided against it in the end) and turned to bid his goodbyes, but Bokuto beat him to it.

“You’re right, Akaashi, I don’t think of everyone I love as my soulmate, but,” he stopped for a second. “But when it comes to what I’m doing now, I think– no, I’m certain they are one and the same. I just hope you’ll feel the same way, when you see it,”

Akaashi stood there, his mouth slightly opened, not knowing what to say at first.

“You know, Bokuto-san, you may seem like a devil-may-care kind of guy, but I believe there is a lot more to you. So, I’m sure I’ll feel the same, when I see what you’ve prepared,”

“Thank you, Akaashi,” Bokuto’s usual smile now on his face. “I’ll pick you up on Monday for lunch at the usual time. Have a great evening!” and with that he left, not letting Akaashi tell him ‘goodbye’ himself.

Akaashi entered his home and subconsciously touched his hair, the memory of Bokuto moving it out of his eyes and their conversation about soulmates and love, replaying in his head.

**I just hope you’ll feel the same way, when you see it,** _he only said that, because I’m his critic. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Akaashi, or you just might end up heartbroken. Despite what Oikawa and Kuroo may think._

_Or maybe, just for once, they are right._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're nearing the end wow i'm actually really excited abt it


	8. Girl with a pearl earring, c.1665 (Johannes Vermeer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i genuinely don't know how to feel about this chapter, i think it might be my favourite so far
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated and i hope you enjoy (´｡• ω •｡`) ♡

The closer the exhibition was coming, the more anxious Akaashi was getting. The trees bloomed and the sun shone brighter and yet he was locked in his mind, the building anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

Another negative effect of the upcoming exhibition was the time Bokuto and him spent together suffered greatly. It was suddenly cut rather short as Akaashi had his plate full of work and not to mention the way Oikawa became barely tolerable every time they had a big project coming up. Their communication was limited to the occasional text messages and even those were far and few in between a week before the grand opening.

Not everything was lost, however, and soon enough Akaashi found a semblance of a silver lining to the whole situation. The sudden increase in workload released his mind from the chains Bokuto had put on him and despite working late hours Akaashi felt like he could breathe for once, not having to suffocate himself with his turbulent emotions. There was a downside as well, of course, and for the first time Akaashi learnt the meaning behind the words **missing someone to death** _,_ but only a week was left.

_Just seven more days. You can wait that long._

“’Kaashi, ready to leave?” Kuroo’s voice echoed in the empty office. Akaashi lifted his eyes from the computer screen flickered his gaze from the papers by his side to the man in front of him. “It’s late, there’s no point in sitting here. Even Oikawa went home already,”

With a heavy sigh Akaashi stood up from his chair and quietly gathered his belongings. He turned off his laptop and followed Kuroo outside where the cold wind nipped at his face. The other offices around them were covered in darkness and only the nearby restaurants and bars emitted welcoming light.

“Under normal circumstances I’d offer to grab some dinner, but I’m way too tired for that now, so I’ll head home if you don’t mind,”

“Thank you for waiting for me. I know these projects usually take a toll on you,”

“Ah, well,” Tetsurou lifted his bad and fished for his pack of cigarettes from within. “They take a toll on all of us. Get home safely, Akaashi,” and with the small fire of his lighter he left.

Akaashi headed in the opposite direction and although he knew there was a slim chance of his plan succeeding, he continued on anyway. After some time he reached the front glass door of _Koutaro’s gallery_ and was surprised to find there was light coming from within. Without a second thought he entered and with quiet steps he followed the light from where it was coming underneath the thick wooden door of Bokuto’s main office and some of the empty rooms on the left.

He gently knocked on the door, but when an answer never came he opened it himself. Bokuto was sleeping on his desk while materials were scattered everywhere on the floor and covered most of the surface. Paints, canvases, markers, pencils, sketchbooks – Akaashi had to go through an entire barricade before he ended up by Bokuto’s side.

“Bokuto-san, wake up, please,” He shook Bokuto’s shoulder with a little force. “Come on, you can’t sleep here, your back will hurt,”

After some tossing around and a few disgruntled sounds Bokuto opened his eyes. “Hmm, Akaashi? What are you doing here? What time is it?”

“Fifteen past midnight. Come on now, get up.”

Bokuto stretched his limbs with a yawn and let the blanket over his shoulders fall down. He then looked at Akaashi and smiled. “What, ya came here to see me? I didn’t know you miss me this much,”

“It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other. I was going home and decided to check up on you.”

Bokuto’s smile grew even bigger and brighter (not that Akaashi thought that was humanly possible). “We both know your house is in the opposite direction, Akaashi.”

The latter let out an annoyed huff and lowered his gaze ( _god, he’s too tired for this_ ). “And what if it is? I already said I wanted to check up on you.”

“Very roundabout way of saying you miss me,” Bokuto leaned his head on his arm and stared right in Akaashi’s eyes. “but it’s so you I can’t help, but love it,”

Akaashi was sure his face was brighter than the red paint near his foot and felt the emotional need to hide somewhere. Indeed, Bokuto proved to be rather bad for his health.

“You sound drunk. Come on, let’s head home. We’re both very tired, I’m sure.” Akaashi lifted the fallen blanket and set it on the desk, letting Bokuto to stand up so he could grab his coat. 

The gallery was located a little further away from the restaurants so there wasn’t nearly enough light and was far quieter. The two men fell into a leisurely stroll, too tired to even talk. Silence sat between them until they reached Akaashi’s apartment.

“Say, Bokuto-san, would you like to come in?” The question was so sudden even Akaashi himself was surprised by his own boldness.

“Well, since _you’re_ offering, how could I say no?”

Akaashi was by all means a person who likes to keep everything clean. And he’s well aware of that – his entire apartment consist of little furniture, completed with gray and white walls and a small plant sitting on top of the kitchen island. It’s simple, minimalistic but when someone brighter than the sun itself, who feels like a home full of priceless memories, came in, Akaashi felt a little disappointed, insecure even. A home could be a reflection of a person and so far Akaashi looked like a boring middle-aged man who had little to nothing interesting happening in his life.

“I like it. It definitely suits you, Akaashi,”

It’s interesting how two sentences from the right person could change someone’s perspective of themselves.

“Tea, Bokuto-san?”

“Yes, green, if you have any,”

Now that they were inside a warm home Bokuto seemed keener on talking and mainly catching up with Akaashi, while the other prepared tea. Of course, Bokuto avoided the question of his paintings, when Akaashi brought it up, as if it were the plague, but in general the conversation was gentle, intimate even when they moved to the couch each with a warm cup of tea in hand.

“Ah, I’ve missed your company. We must go to Onigiri Miya once this is all over,” Bokuto moved his free hand on the backside of the couch and moved significantly closer to Akaashi, who almost choked on his drink because of the action.

“Yes, I agree,”

Silence suddenly fell and Akaashi lifted his eyes from the cup in his hands to meet Bokuto’s. The latter took his own cup and Akaashi’s and settled them on the coffee table in front of the couch with slightly trembling hands.

“Bokuto-san, is everything alright?”

“Say, Akaashi,” This time Bokuto didn’t dare look at Akaashi and cemented his gaze onto the cups in front of him, “Do you think that you could ever lo–,” but when he looked at Akaashi he hesitated.

“Bokuto-san?”

“Do you think you could let me stay the night?” A soft chuckle. “It’s kind of late already and I wanted to get an early start in the morning. I could sleep on the couch, if you have no guest bedroom. Or the floor even, the carpet looks really comfortable,”

One part of Akaashi knew whatever Bokuto was saying at the moment was the only efficient way to cover-up what he had wanted to ask in the first place; the other, however, was too tired to pry into Bokuto’s mind, so it was a simple decision, really.

“Yes, of course. And you don’t have to sleep on the floor, the couch is extensible,”

It was a weird predicament to find yourself in – to lay in your bed, while the person you love is three walls away from you.

Person you love. Was this what it was – love? Akaashi’s tired mind mused it was and was almost completely sure his sober self would think the same, but it was late and knowing home was three walls away from you was the only thing you need to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm thinking two more chapters and then it’s over,, man what a journey
> 
> also posted a [bokuaka fluff one-shot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345404) you could check that out if you'd like


	9. The birth of Venus, 1484-1486 (Sandro Botticelli)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically, second to last chapter, but the last one will be an epilogue of sorts so yeah 
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated (*¯︶¯*)

“Akaashi, are you ready? We have to leave,” Oikawa’s voice shook him out of his trance.

Akaashi didn’t want to leave. It was the day of the exhibition and while Oikawa might believe the reason Akaashi was so hesitant was because he was nervous (which was not necessarily wrong), the reason for the latter’s tired eyes and fuzzy mind was far from the tall building of the Tokyo metropolitan gallery. It had more so to do with a certain person in there.

For the nth time this past week Akaashi replayed the image of Bokuto’s puffy face and the sound of his raspy morning voice. It was somewhat of an unhealthy obsession, he realized, but it was his last memory of the man before deep-diving into work once again and Akaashi was dead-set on preserving it.

With a little more nudging on Kuroo’s side as well the three men finally headed towards the gallery and in true Oikawa fashion they were a little late for the opening ceremony. There was a large line of people outside the gallery waiting to enter and a group of photographers and interviewers stopped every person in their peripheral vision, hoping to hit the jackpot and score an interview with one of the artists.

Akaashi scrunched his nose – okay, maybe there was another reason why he didn’t want to leave the office. He had never been a big fan of noise and the crowds outside were most definitely outdoing themselves in that department. Thankfully, they didn’t stay outside too much – after a few photos and people who stopped Oikawa to ask him a few questions, they entered the large building. There were already people inside, including some familiar faces from their line of work. There was security placed at every entrance of each hall – there was one for each artist, ten in total, and as much as Akaashi wanted to enter the one named _Bokuto Kotarou,_ it was unfortunately the last one and he couldn’t afford the disrespect to the other artists.

The first hall belonged to one of the painters from Osaka, Takahiro Misaro – an enigma with oil paints. His theme was _spring_ and very clearly inspired by the city landscapes during that time of the year – cherry blossoms, cloudless skies, the entire world waking up from a timeless winter. Each piece of the six in total was a balanced play between the used colours and tranquility of the aesthetic and surprisingly enough the three men spent ample time looking at each one.

By the time they entered the second hall the gallery seemed fuller and one of the foreign artists who had come to visit were being interviewed near the entrance. The second, third and fourth hall consisted of pieces inspired by the early impressionism movement and once again took use of oil paints – indefinitely timeless, but still rather underwhelming, Akaashi noted in his notebook and moved onto to hall five. Kuroo and Oikawa stayed a little behind.

Looking at the human silhouettes displayed in the hall, Akaashi wondered whether he was moving too fast. He looked around himself – people of various backgrounds were looking at the paintings, plunging into conversations about each one – seemingly all of them took their sweet time looking at everything. In the corner of the room Akaashi spotted the artist himself, Kyoto native Muramata Kobayashi, and pushing aside the thoughts about hall number ten, Akaashi approached him, willing to learn more about the theme of the human shadow.

He spent more time than initially anticipated with Muramata, but halls six through eight didn’t have anything that caught Akaashi’s eye anyway, so he moved over to hall nine, sure that Oikawa and Kuroo would comment on the rest. Hall nine was one of the little exhibitions whose pieces were made with acrylic paint and consisted of something other than flowers and animals. Each piece was an almost blank canvas with differing shapes and stripes painted across them. Looking at them at first, they all appeared to be distorted shapes, but when you put everything together they formed the portrait of a smiling child. Only later would Akaashi learn that was the late daughter of the artist.

Akaashi stood by the entrance of hall ten. From where he was situated he couldn’t see any of the pieces inside and his heart began furiously racing in his ribcage. One step forward, then two – there was only one person inside; the crown jewel, if you will.

“Akaashi,”

“Bokuto-san,”

There were two pieces on each side of Akaashi, each depicting a bright red string across a mostly blank canvas. His line of sight tried following both sides until they connected in the middle in the wall in front of him. There were three paintings – the red string moved across the two rear ones, both of which depicted a familiar silhouette and Akaashi moved three steps forward, then another one and another one until he was face to face with them. He instantly recognized the person on his left with the glasses and narrowed gaze; the person on the right sported a silver-looking colour with dark roots, the long hair falling around their face. The canvas of the last, seventh piece was almost completely covered with the red string, until it finally connected in the shape of a human heart.

Akaashi’s heart dropped in his feet and he subconsciously moved his hand in front of his mouth in realization. “Love and the red string of fate – one and the same,” He turned to meet Bokuto’s gaze.

“I knew you would understand, Akaashi,”

“Well, I told you, didn’t I?” One step forward. “That I would surely feel the same,”

There wasn’t another step to make because Bokuto closed the distance himself. He moved his hands towards Akaashi’s face and slowly, a little unsurely removed his glasses. The latter felt glossy tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.

“Has anyone ever told you have beautiful eyes, Keiji?”

“I believe you once did, Kotaro,”

Bokuto hummed in mild amusement. “Once is far from enough, though,”

“I wouldn’t worry, if I were you. I’m sure you’d get many more chances,”

Akaashi lifted his hands and cupped Bokuto’s face, putting their foreheads together. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl, i'm actually kind of sad it's come to an end, but at the same time i'm happy i was able to complete it without periods of writing block and overall i'm content with how everything turned out soo... silver lining? of course, i am sure my writing leaves much to be desired, but i'm just starting out so hopefully in the future i'd be able to produce more high quality work


	10. The kiss, 1907-1908 (Gustav Klimt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year, everyone! (´ ∀ ` *)

The sound of crashing waves rang in his ears and Akaashi looked down to where land and water met. He made a few steps backwards and looked worriedly at the man beside him. “Kotarou, I’m not sure about this,”

“It’ll be fine, trust me. What’s summer without having fun at the beach?”

“Why is your idea of fun plunging into deep waters without equipment?”

Bokuto let out a small chuckle and moved towards Akaashi. He took his arms and wrapped them around his neck, snaking his own around Akaashi’s waist. “My idea of fun isn’t reckless behavior–,”

“Debatable.”

“It’s spending time with you, Keiji.”

Akaashi averted his gaze away from his lover and stared at the endless sky in front of him, weighing his options. “Oikawa and Kuroo will never let me live it down if I slither myself out of this one, right?”

“Never took you for a coward.”

With those words, Akaashi grabbed Bokuto’s hand and jumped off the cliff, diving straight into the cold water. The ocean was cold and dark, but Bokuto’s extreme body heat didn’t let Akaashi freeze to death. They floated on the surface of the water, clinging tightly to each other in complete silence. Akaashi let the tranquil sound of the surrounding water almost lull him to sleep. He lifted his lips close to Bokuto’s ear and quietly whispered.

“We should do this next summer, too.”

“As if we could do anything else.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to everyone who followed the story and here's to more in 2021!


End file.
